


Glory

by robert_downey_jr



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fighting, Fluff, Funny, Kissing, Political Alliances, Sad, Slow Burn, Smut, a lot of smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-02-03 20:40:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12755787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robert_downey_jr/pseuds/robert_downey_jr
Summary: The stories have painted the Hero of Ferelden as various of things, but she's the only one that'll tell the true story.





	1. Part 1: In War, Victory

**Author's Note:**

> I've been DYING to write about my Warden but I never felt the urge until now--so bear with me because this is a work in progress!

The day that the Queen of Ferelden stormed into Skyhold, was the day that Leliana's own spies had failed her. She kept her hood drawn over her features, her Warden Commander gear covered with the cloak. Nobles and Templars alike stuck up their noses as she shoved through the crowds, not bothering to give them a second glance.

No, because beyond the gossiping and the sounds of chattering, her ears caught the sounds of arguing in the distance. Her trained hearing had spotted all the way from the main entrance of the building. Where the guards hadn’t even given her a second look as she blended into the crowd of touring nobility.

Two distinguishable voices, if Leliana’s letters had been correct, and not outdated from traveling all the way out from the Anderfels, then the bickering between the Champion of Kirkwall and the leader of the Inquisition still hadn’t ceased. Bloody fucking hell, she’d been hearing that nonstop every town she jumped from and to, it was all about the constant disagreements since the battle in Adamant.

She took a hard left at the second door away from the throne, and pushed through the doors. She was immediately let into to the office of one woman that jumped from her seat. Florence slid an icy look her way and tore away her hood, revealing the small circlet on her head. The pretty woman's widened in surprise. She’d realized who was striding clearly through her doorway.

The arguing grew louder from the door that she walked up to the next door.

"Wait!" The woman said quickly.

Florence burst open the door to reveal four figures standing in a grand hallway. Two people she recognized immediately. Two she didn’t. One of the faces was Leliana, her most trusted friend and beside her, looking ten years older and wise beyond his own age, was Cullen Rutherford.

The man had aged well since she last time she’d seen him. She’d applaud the man on his newfound taste in apparel and the fact that he looked like he’d slept through the night for once.

But Florence didn't stare at them long before the two bickering women had suddenly ceased all sorts of yelling. Instead, looks of mixed emotions of surprise and fear were affixed to their faces. Florence strode up to the women and sighed. She hadn't met either of them, but she could easily tell who was Champion and who the current leader of the Inquisition was.

"My, you two sounded like two cats snarling over territory.”

From her peripherals, Florence saw both Cullen and Leliana quirk a smile.

"Can one of you please explain to me why I was torn away from my own personal business to travel all the way here?" She’d used the same voice that she would with a child.

The two women blinked.

The woman that Florence had seen earlier, came walking in. She realized that this was the Inquisition’s Ambasssador Josephine Montilyet. Which explained the nicely decorated office and the attire that even the stiffest of Lords and Ladies would give a nod of approval.

"Your Majesty, please forgive my shock. I had no idea of your arrival—“

"Neither did I." Leliana cut in with a coy smile.

Florence gave the spymaster a wink. She had always been good at keeping secrets from her friends. And better at hiding from Leliana. The Champion of Kirkwall and the Inquisitor still stared without words. Good. She didn't need to hear them speak after their incessant fighting.

Josephine picked up a quill from the board in her arm. "Shall I notify His Majesty of your—“  

Florence cut her off quickly. "You shall not. I don't need him to know I was here."

 _And without proper answers to give._ She thought to herself.

Josephine merely gave a small sideways glance to Leliana, but nodded.

Florence turned back to the two women and raised her eyebrows. "Still no answer?"

Utter silence.

Florence removed the gloves from her fingers. "Right. I came here because I had heard no one had been able to tear you two off of each other. I was told that things between you were coming to a very murderous boiling point, yes?”

Surprisingly, the Champion's mind finally snapped common sense and she squared her shoulders. "Forgive me, Your Majesty--"

Florence’s eyes rolled into the back of her head. "Oh, shut it. I've heard much of you, Flora Hawke. I know that you talk out of your ass better than any Antivan here.”

Cullen stifled his own laughter.

The Inquisitor bit back her own smile and gently curtseyed in front of her. She spotted the mark on her hand, it glowed brightly green against the lighting in the hallway. But what truly had caught her attention was the brand that was just above the glowing mark in her palm. She'd seen the symbol plenty of times in her life.

"Think you're safe from my wrath, hmm?"

Inquisitor merely gave a concerned look over her shoulders.

“Spare me of your faked pleasantries, Inquisitor Trevelyan—or is it assassin? I’ve been told that you have a wicked temper. Quite a shit job you have with a temper like yours.”

A roguish smile went across her lips. She didn’t dare to deny it or act insulted. Bold. Maybe the Inquisitor had a purpose yet.

“That’s what I have them for.” She ushered to the three people that had gathered behind the women.

Did they suddenly take notice that Thedas’s remaining heroes stood in the same spot? Had they noticed that each woman, no matter what region they had come from, had seen more bloodshed—more fighting than anyone else in the entire 100 mile radius around them? Florence pursed her lips to herself, she didn’t think so.

“Well, your temper has gotten the best of you because you can’t shut your lips long enough to let anyone speak a damned word.”

Hawke let out a cough. “This isn’t how I envisioned the Hero of Ferelden.”

Florence nearly smiled at the sentiment. “I am _nothing_ like how the stories paint me.”


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Florence of Highever arrives in Ostagar and is faced with the fact that she could never go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to write about my warden for a few years, so bear with me while I work out the kinks! Please enjoy!

Florence was still drenched in her family's blood when she arrived in Ostagar. Her black hair had become stringy and matted while her armor set clanked together loudly as she fell in step with Duncan. She hadn't spoken a word to him since she fled her burning home. The stench of burning bodies stuck in her nose and the constant screaming was something that she couldn't properly get out of her ears.

She should have been in mourning, should have been a crying mess the entire journey away from Highever. But simply, she felt uncontrollable rage in her stomach. Her blood boiled, her head was running visions of murdering every single Howe in different ways, and she was more than ready to spill blood.

Maferath whined beside her and rubbed his nose against her hand. She looked over at her beloved pet and ran a hand over his short fur. She lost her home, her family and all title in Highever, but at least she still had her dog beside her. Howe had taken enough from her, she couldn’t risk losing her dog to him as well. His muscular body and trotting steps kept her mind leveled through the grief and anger.

A bitter breeze ripped through her hair and her teeth chattered. Duncan, from his spot beside her, quirked a brow.

"We're nearly there. Once we reach the camp you'll be given clean clothes--much warmer than what you have now." He gave a quick look to the blood-stained riding leathers.

"No need." Florence said through gritted teeth. "My rage is keeping me warm." Which wasn't a full lie.

Duncan, even with his rough demeanor, bit back an urge to smile. Florence was from a typical noble family, but the spitfire sure didn't act like it. He'd seen plenty like her recruited into the Wardens, however, none of them were quite like her. A small part of him hoped that that whatever rage she concealed within wouldn't go out from the ritual. Hoping that someone as angry as her would stay alive long enough to enact revenge.

Duncan loosed a breath and looked to the bow strapped to Florence’s back. "Fine archery skills you have. Acquire them on your own?"

Florence's back tensed and she continued to press through the mud that was beginning to frost from the upward path. All she did was shoot down a few deer to supply them some dinner throughout their journey. And did she honestly feel like telling a senior Warden her life story? Did it make any sort of difference in the long run?

The rogue shoved her hands underneath her armpits and sighed. "No. My brother and I trained together for a time when we were little. When he became a teenager, he was more into politics and courtly intrigue. I had an easier time with launching arrows into things."

The skill had come naturally after a few sessions. Fergus was better equipped at mauls and chevalier training than she, but even then he didn’t spend as much as she did with dummies and weapons. Her silver tongue did her no credit unlike her skills with her bow. She missed the days training with her brother. The thought brought a nasty pang into her chest. Memories she had with a family that she should have cherished longer.

"Skills like yours prove quite useful after the Joining. It makes training much easier for senior Wardens like me."

"With any luck, I won't need any." She snapped.

An indirect slap, yet the Warden had heard worse in his lifetime. As they reached another part of the hill, voices had begun to be heard from the distance. Florence looked up from the ground as the foundations of Ostagar appeared. The white towers standing tall and menacing over the ravine where the worst of the war was held.

The smell of blood wafted into the bitter air, but the copper smelled different from the same kind Florence had stained on her armor. The smell was foul...bitter and tainted. Her stomach lurched at the scent and she bit back the bile that was rising in her throat. Smoke was rising from inside Ostagar and she could only guess that they were burning the dead and reciting funeral rites.

Florence had never seen this side of war, the bloodshed, the fear that hung heavily into the atmosphere. She wagered that maybe if she could take off this very minute Duncan wouldn’t chase after her or reach her in time to shove a blade in her back. She could run away from the life she was being forced into. She looked to her clothes, remembering how her mother held her father. The last moments just before she was dragged out from her home. Her anger returned in full and she kept her feet going.

They crossed over three ruined archways that led to a bridge that had held sturdy through the multiple battles beneath. Florence clenched her hands into fists and placed her hands to her side. She kept head forward and her chin upright. She may had lost everything, but she wasn't about to enter in an unforgiving camp looking like it. The last thing she needed was a bunch of idiotic soldiers giving her shit.

Florence could see the roughened terrain beneath them. There were no bodies—yet. Ostagar had seen it’s fair share of bloodshed and murder in it’s lifetime. Florence didn’t want to imagine what the elven ruins would look like splattered with blood and corpses. Suddenly, Duncan straightened out his shoulders as the sounds of footsteps approached. Florence looked and found the King of Ferelden striding right towards them. She gave a bewildered look to Duncan just as he came up to them.

"Ho there, Duncan!" Cailan said and put out a hand.

Duncan furrowed his brows in confusion but clasped his arm. "King Cailan? I didn't expect--"

"A royal welcome? I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun." The king mused.

"Not if I could help it, your Majesty."

King Cailan smiled and Florence could not find one single flaw with his smile alone. That much perfection nearly annoyed her. Someone with teeth that nice and a smile that beautiful needed to be punched…repeatedly.

"Then I'll have the might Duncan at my side after all! Glorious! The other Wardens told me you had found a promising recruit, is this she?"

Florence shifted on her feet and turned her head around at the two men. Her mother would have been appalled that she hadn’t bowed in front of the king. Her father would have merely snickered, but even then given her a warning look. But that was when she was in Highever…and when her family was still alive.

Duncan nodded. "Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty."

Cailan waved a dismissing hand. "No need. You are Bryce's youngest, are you not? I don't think we've actually met." The King turned his gaze onto where Florence stood.

Florence gave a slight bow of the head to the king, hoping that her mother, wherever she was beside the Maker, gave a nod of approval.  "Yes, your Majesty. My name is Florence.”

"Your brother has already arrived with the rest of Highever's men, but we are still awaiting your father."

Florence's throat closed up. Her brother was here and she was only one to tell him that his wife, child and his parents had been brutally murdered and betrayed. She clenched her jaw and swallowed back a sob.

"He's not coming. He died when our castle was taken." She said through gritted teeth.

King Cailan's eyebrows hit his hairline, blue eyes showing compassion and yet sympathy. Florence would have appreciated it, but the fact that his surprised face still made him look beautiful annoyed her more.

"Dead? What do you mean?" He turned to Duncan. "Duncan, do you know anything about this?"

The senior Warden nodded solemly. "Teryn Cousland and his wife are dead, Your Majesty. Arl Howe has shown himself as a traitor and had taken Highever castle."

A traitor was the mildest of terms of what Florence was thinking. Her vocabulary of insults was brimming to the top, and she had to bite on her tongue from saying anything that would offend the king. Or even all of Ferelden, too.

King Cailan turned his back on them, concealing whatever emotion he had on his face. Florence hoped that whatever he was hiding better had been rage.

“Had we not escaped, he would have killed us and told any story he wished.”

“I…” Cailan paused briefly before shaking his head. “Can scarcely believe it. How could he think to get away with such treachery?” He looked to Florence. “As soon as we’re done here, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice.”

Florence couldn’t control the skeptical look from her face. King Cailan put a hand to his chest, his golden armor glinting off the sunlight.

“You have my word.”

“What kind of justice are we speaking of here?”

The king nearly quirked a grin. “I’ll let you and your brother be the ones to pick such a punishment.” He sighed. “Speaking of, I have no doubt you want to see your brother. Unfortunately, he and his men are out scouting in the Wilds.”

She didn’t know if she wanted to go to him right this second and tell him that their entire family had been murdered, or run and hopefully die in battle before he found her. The latter sounded better by the second.

Florence dropped her gaze. “I am not eager to tell him, your Majesty.”

“I apologize for not being able to do much more. All I can suggest is that you vent out your grief against the darkspawn for the time being.”

“So long as Arl Howe pays, I’m happy.”

Duncan saw something in Florence that he hadn’t seen before. Through some of her blood speckled face, beyond the pure grief behind her aquamarine eyes, was a rage unlike he’d ever seen before. It had gone beyond mourning. He stared at a woman that had lost everything and reached rock bottom, and yet she looked ready to start crawling out of it.

Perhaps he had made the right choice, after all.

King Cailan, a little taken aback by the heat in Florence’s words, cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies.”

“Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe’s forces will be here in less than a week.”

King Cailan scoffed as he turned on his heel and made his way back to his guards. “Eamon just wants in on the glory. We’ve won three battles against these monsters and tomorrow shall be no different.”

Florence saw a flicker of emotion pass over Duncan’s face, just before he hardened his look. There was something in that flicker that told her more than she needed to know. She’d always been rather observant of switches in people’s body language.

“You sound very confident in that.”

Cailan shrugged. “I’m not even sure this is a true Blight. There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, we’ve seen no signs of an archdemon.”

Florence raised her brows to Duncan, who turned his head back to Cailan. “Disappointed, your Majesty?”

“I’d hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god!” he sighed. “But I suppose this will have to do.” He turned and dipped his head slightly. “Now, I must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens.”

Florence watched Cailan’s golden metal gleam as he made his way over the bridge and directly into the heart of the camp. She waited until the glimmer of Cailan was gone and no remaining guards were in sight.

“He’s rather perfect looking, no? I’d wonder, do the handmaids fight one another just to wipe his arse?” She said out loud.

Duncan shot her a dirty look to which she ignored. “Alright then, spit it out. What do you know?”

He sighed.“What the king said is true. They’ve won several battles against the darkspawn here.”

Florence quirked a brow. “But?”

Duncan ushered her to the large bridge in front of them. Florence put a helpful hand to Maferath’s head and began to walk.

“Despite the stories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger with each passing day. By now, they look to outnumber us.”

“Oh that’s bloody brilliant.” She hissed under her breath.

“I know there is an archdemon behind this. But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling.”

She knew that the King Cailan wasn’t the type to listen. If he wasn’t a dumb as a druffalo then maybe he could be reasoned with. Unfortunately, she knew that he was _definitely_ as dumb as the farm animal—if not a little bit dumber.

It wasn’t a possibility to get the king to listen to Duncan’s own warnings, a small part of her didn’t even believe him herself. But there was honestly in Duncan’s words, and she’d seen how he’d looked when he told her about his feeling. There was no way of getting through to King Cailain, not when the revered king was lusting after a righteous victory that painted him as a hero.

Blights don’t make heroes, it makes martyrs.  

“What would you have him do?”

“Wait for reinforcements. We sent a call out west to the Grey Wardens of Orlais, but it will be many days before they can join us.”

Florence’s nose stuck up at the idea of fighting alongside Orlesians. She couldn’t think of any other sort of punishment than her having to deal with the most pompous of people. They always smelled of overwhelming soaps and wine.

“There aren’t any other Grey Wardens lurking around?”

“Our numbers in Ferelden are too few. We must do what we can and look to Teryn Loghain to make up the difference. To that end, we should proceed with the Joining ritual without delay.”

“A hot meal might be nice, first. Or a bath. I wouldn’t be opposed to either.”

“In due time. The ritual requires a lot of time and preparation.”

“And what’s so special about this ‘ritual’?”

Duncan sighed and began to explain, but even Florence began to tune it out. All she heard from the brief summary he’d given her was that it wasn’t mentioned often and that it was to only stay between Grey Wardens and their recruits.

“Am I the only recruit here?”

“No, there are two others here already. They have been waiting for us to arrive.”

“So, what do you need me to do?”

“Feel free to explore the camp here as you wish. Find the Grey Warden tent, bathe and put on the armor given to you. All I ask is that you do not leave it for the time being. And one more thing:”

Florence paused at the base of the bridge, her head turning to look to Duncan.

“Don’t run from this, Florence. I truly believe you are meant for this. I believe that you could stand the difference between this Blight with the fire you have inside you.”

Florence paused and nodded. She’d thrown all sorts of signs of running before she’d gotten here, realizing that she couldn’t live her life on the run from a Grey Warden, but his words had solidified her willingness to stay.

Duncan put a hand out, stopping her from moving again. “There is another Grey Warden in the camp by the name is Alistair. When you are ready, seek him out and tell him it’s time to summon the recruits.”

Maferath from her side nudged her hand with his nose and whined. Duncan looked to the large mutt and the two stared at each other for the briefest of moments. Maferath’s head tilted and the massive mut whined in confusion.

“Your hound can stay with me while I attend to some business.” Maferath barked and trotted over to his side without hesitation.

“Traitor.” Florence stuck out her tongue to the hound.

Duncan faintly smiled at the sentiment. “The Grey Warden tent is on the other side of this bridge. You can find us there, if you need to.”

And then, she was alone.

Florence watched as her dog and Duncan walked onto the bridge and made their way to the camp. She put a foot onto the first step, but paused with her hand still on the side of it. She turned her head back to the direction of where she had come from. The woods around her gently rustled and birds cawed over her head.

The barren path had been beaten from marching soldiers, decorated horses and other means of siege equipment. But she could spot where her own footprints had stuck into the snow and mud. Her home was behind her, any means of returning to normalcy were long gone. She’d never go back to it and live the life she had before. She clenched her jaw at the thought that she’d never get another chance to kiss her parents goodbye, hug her nephew and chat with her sister-in-law.

There would be no quiet evenings in her family’s library, tucked away in a corner with tea and the warm fire roaring. She wouldn’t train in her courtyard with the rest of the soldiers, or sneak food out of the kitchens or even pull silly pranks on Fergus.

Arl Howe had taken all of that from her.

She turned her head to the camp. After this, she wouldn’t Florence of Highever, Bryce Cousland’s youngest or even Fergus’s annoying little sister anymore. She was to be reborn into whatever warrior the Grey Wardens wanted her to be. She’d become the woman Duncan thought her to be, but she’d never let her rage die with her family. She had no mercy to give.

Florence felt tears run down her cheeks as she sucked in a rough breath. She would take this new path, one that would be forged from blood and vengeance. She’d do anything to bring Arl Howe to justice. If she was to lose herself in this new part of her life…then so be it. She’d made a promise to her parents and she’d follow it through.

Florence wiped the tears from her face, erasing the signs of her mourning, and strode directly into the camp.

 

* * *

 

 

Her new armor had clung to her like a glove. Her trousers were of a thick leather made from what she suspected to be gurn hide. It had taken her a few attempts to ease it up and over her hips, but once she laced it, it had stuck to her legs like another layer of skin. Her breastplate was of a dark green leather that had been laced tightly around her entire chest. Her pauldrons were the last things to attach to her shoulders, the dark metal rose up with small spikes and clasps that kept her cloak against her back. It had taken her a while to get every piece tied correctly. She’d lost count of how many layers she actually wore beneath the leather armor.

The bracers she’d been given were a perfect fit and kept her wrists locked in place. She tested the thick material by clenching her fists and testing the flexibility of the material. She’d be able to launch arrows into enemies easily enough. Maker willing, she’d have more than enough anger to launch an entire spray of arrows into enemies.

Her boots were laced and covered with greaves that had nearly shined underneath the sun. She had walked out of her tent, still adjusting the ties on her wrists when a few whistles came to her right. With a gloved hand she gave an obscene gesture to the group of soldiers that stood around a fire.

She no longer looked like she had crawled out of a pit of fire and ash. Her hair had been properly cleaned and braided at the base of her neck. Her face was clean of any signs of blood, revealing her dark freckles that decorated her cheeks and nose. She wondered to herself what her mother would say to her daughter being dressed in full armor and going to war.

_A woman is always prepared for the worst._

She heard her mother’s words in ringing in her head and she swallowed thickly. Duncan had come from around the tent and gave her a slid nod of approval her way. Maferath barked joyfully at his side and she smiled tenderly at the mutt. She assumed she’d looked exactly how a Warden should appear.

It was the nicest of armor she’d ever worn.  Duncan had managed to scrounge armor from all over the camp, and honestly she’d appreciated every single piece that kept her warm and safe. She’d also appreciated anything that hadn’t been covered with blood. She could have been put in worse, comparing to the armor that had been given to the foot soldiers.

She could feel every pair of eyes on her as she walked from the tent and towards the other end of the camp. She watched as soldiers huddled around small fires, sharing tales that ended in laughter. In a few months, if she survived the war, would she be in the same spot those soldiers were in? Would she be telling stories of her own journeys? Would she even be laughing like they were?

Then on the opposite side were the wounded that were being tended to by mages and surgeons. The smell of blood wafted into the air and her stomach rolled. When would she get used to the smell if she was to fight darkspawn for the rest of her life?

The mages area stood off in the corner by the wounded as mages came in and out of the large tent. Each one shuffled out quietly, keeping their head down and their hands together while hurrying to tend to the dying and hurt.

Out of the flurry of mages, one stood out amongst the rest. The woman was older than the rest that she’d seen, her hair greyed and her face hardened from years of work. She stood by a tree, watching a chantry sister speak to a group of kneeling and standing fighters. The woman looked away from the sermon and right to where Florence walked.

The gaze enough had chilled her to her core.

She averted her eyes, and instead focused on the sounds of an argument echoing in the distance. She followed the noise, unable to make her feet turn the opposite direction. She had a bad habit of never minding her own business, and damned herself for it as she came closer and closer to a large ruin past the mages quarters.

She came up to the steps of the ruin to see two men arguing in the middle of it. The first thing she noticed was large fabrics belonging to a circle mage, broad shoulders hunched forward in annoyance at the next man in front of him.

However, once Florence set eyes on the second man she’d wished she’d seen him first.

The man opposite of mage stood with decorated warden armor from the chest down. Florence realized that this had to be the other warden Duncan spoke of.  She saw his face, the boyish features being masked over with the slight growing of a beard. He couldn’t have been much older than she was.

By the Maker’s balls, he could’ve been the most attractive man in the entire camp.

As she came closer, she could see that the warden, Alistair, had his brows raised and subtle showings of a smirk on his lips. The mage didn’t share the same look, instead of having anger and irritation taking over his withered features.

She was immediately intrigued by the sight of drama, the pretty man was just a bonus.

“What is it now? Haven’t Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?”

Florence made her way over and Alistair looked to her for the briefest of moment, giving her a second look just before turning his attention back onto the mage.

“I simply came to deliver a message from the Revered Mother, ser mage. She desires your presence.”

Florence definitely desired Alistair’s presence. Why couldn’t he had been the one to recruit her in Highever? She would haven’t put up as big of a fight—nor would she even object if she was asked to join him.

The mage beside her scoffed. “What her Reverence ‘desires’ is of no concern to me! I am busy helping the Grey Wardens—by the king’s orders, I might add!”

Florence’s eyes rolled back into her skull.

“Should I have asked her to write a note?” Alistair said raising a brow.

“Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!”

“Yes, I was harassing _you_ by delivering a message.”

“Your glibness does you no credit.”

On the contrary, Florence hadn’t been so interested in a conversation before.

“Here I thought we were getting along so well. I was even going to name one of future children after you…the _grumpy_ one.”

Florence stifled a chuckle and put a hand to her mouth to conceal her smile. The mage shot her a dirty look and gave Alistair an even angrier one.

“Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must.” The mage turned on his heel and shoved past Florence. “Out of my way, fool!”

She turned to glare at him. “Sit on your staff, ser mage?”

The mage simply ignored the comment and walked away in a huff. Alistair moved forward a full smirk now on his face.

“You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.” He fake cheered.

Florence released a sigh and looked away from the mage. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“Wait, we haven’t met, have we? I don’t suppose you happen to be another mage?”

“Would that make your day worse?” She countered.

He lazily rolled his eyes. “Hardly. I just like to know my chance of being turned into a toad at any given moment.”

“It could be worse, you could be turned into a nug.” She shrugged.

Alistair grinned and Florence’s stomach did flips. “I might prefer that over an amphibian— _wait_ , I do know who you are. You’re Duncan’s new recruit, from Highever. I should have recognized you right away, I apologize.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “That’s all right. No offense taken.”

“Good. You didn’t exactly catch me at my finest with the mage there. Allow me to introduce myself: I’m Alistair, the newest Grey Warden, though I guess you knew that.”

She clicked her tongue and nodded. “I wagered that by the armor.”

“Well, as the junior member of the order, I’ll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining.”

“Pleased to meet you, Alistair. I’m Florence.” She stuck out a hand.

Alistair took her hand in his. “Right. That was the name.” There was a softness in her voice that made Florence’s heart clench.

Even his hands felt nice within hers. They were rough from what she could tell was from the sword on his back. She didn’t particularly want to let go of his hand but she knew that there was a difference between flirting and just creeping out someone she’d just met. She released her grip and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“You know, it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?”

She could make a comment on how it seemed he wanted more women in the ranks. She could have baited him to saying something embarrassing and seeng the man blush. However, she needed to level herself. This wasn’t some random man on the streets, this was someone she’d be sharing her travels with—and she really didn’t need to make it awkward between them.

“Maybe because I can handle myself better than most?” She quipped with a sly wink.  

“I’m getting that impression.” He held her gaze for a moment longer before clearing his throat. “So, I’m curious: Have you ever actually encountered a darkspawn?”

The question was one that was filled with different answers. She could have told him that she’d spent hours upon hours in her library reading on them, telling him the different kinds there are and their weaknesses. But she knew that would only gloss right over his question. Her knowledge had nothing to do with actual combat against them.

“No, I haven’t. Have you?”

“When I fought my first one, I wasn’t prepared for how monstrous it was. I can’t say I’m looking forward to encountering another.”

She couldn’t tell him that she wasn’t delighted at the thought, either.

“Anyhow, whenever you’re ready let’s head back to Duncan. I imagine he’s eager to get things started.”

She put a hand out to stop him. Her nosiness was getting to the better of her, but better she ask now than to just press him with hundreds of questions later. “Before we go, I have to know what happened between you and the mage earlier. I hadn’t seen one have his knickers in such a twist before.”

Alistair sucked in a breath and released it. Did she hit a sore spot without realizing it? “The king invited the Circle and the Chantry doesn’t like it one bit. The Chantry just loves reminding them how unwelcome they are. Which puts me in a bit of an awkward position.”

“Oh?”

“I was once a Templar.”

Andraste’s flaming breeches, the man was not only a Grey Warden but he had been a Templar as well. Florence always did have a taste for men that wore heavy armor. However, she just wished that she hadn’t found such a perfect man in such a shit time.

“That would be rather awkward.”

“I’m sure that the Revered Mother meant it as an insult—sending me as her messenger—and the mage picked right up on that.”

“She’s quite the mastermind.” Had she not loathed the Chantry’s outdated beliefs, she would have almost admired the Revered Mother’s trickery.

“I never would have agreed to deliver it, but Duncan says we’re all to cooperate and get along. Apparently, they didn’t get the same speech.”

“But isn’t that what the Blight is for? For bringing us all together and that nonsense?”

Alistair chuckled lowly. “The day that the Blight actually brings the Chantry and the Circle together is the day an archdemon praises the Maker.”

Florence gave him a toothy grin. “Alistair, I look forward to traveling with you.”

He raised a brow, a hint of a smirk on his perfect lips. “You do? Huh. That’s a switch.” He scoffed but Florence could easily tell that there was a layer of nervousness underneath it.

Alistair adjusted the tunic around his throat and ushered to the Grey Warden tent. “The other recruits, Daveth and Ser Jory, are here in the camp. They’ll both be back with Duncan by now. Shall we?”

She would have been fine spending more time with him, even the rest of the night if the Blight permitted it. She had to draw a line somewhere and there was no way Duncan would let her rest without going through the Joining first. That took priority over anything else.

She nodded. “Let’s go.”

She knew little to nothing about Alistair, but yet she knew that traveling beside him didn’t make the Blight seem as bad.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Florence deals with two witches in the Wilds--and goes through with the Joining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know that this is very rough in most parts. I promise that it will get better in more chapters. With that being said, please enjoy!

She knew exactly what Alistair meant about how women in the Wardens was few. She noticed it as she stood between two hulking men that wore similar armor to hers. She was the only female recruit of the Grey Wardens. Which meant she was the only person in the group that had their logical part of their brains still attached. Alistair took his spot beside Duncan, and Maferath from his comfy spot by the fire, huffed in agitation.

 

“You found Alistair, did you? Good. I’ll assume you are ready to begin preparations.” Duncan slowly turned his head to Alistair. “Assuming, of course, that you’re quite finished riling up the mages, Alistair.”

 

Alistair shrugged. “What can I say? The revered mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt they should stick her in the army.”

 

“She forced you to sass the mage, did she? We cannot afford to antagonize anyone. We don’t need to give anyone more ammunition against us.”

 

“You’re right, Duncan. I apologize.”

 

The two nodded at each other before Duncan turned his head back to the three of them. “Now, then. Since you’re all here, we can begin. You four will into the Korcari Wilds to perform two tasks. The first is to obtain three vials of darkspawn blood, one for each recruit.”

 

Darkspawn blood? Florence saw the two other recruits beside her shift nervously. They didn’t appreciate the idea, either. Questions began to brim in her head. Why did the ritual require tainted blood? Did this give them their ties to the darkspawn? Was it being used for other purposes?

 

“And the second?” Florence was quick to ask.

 

If they had to retrieve dragon’s tears, she’d walk. She shouldn’t have been surprised with being given inane tasks. How else was Duncan going to gauge his new recruits and see how they fair with real combat? It was the perfect test to weed out the weaklings.

 

And she was no weakling.

 

“There was one a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts. It has recently come to our attention that some scrolls have been left behind, magically sealed to protect them. Alistair, I want you to retrieve these scrolls if you can.”

 

“Find the archive and three vials of blood. Understood.”

 

 _But easier said than done,_ she thought.

 

“The scrolls contain treaties promising support. Treaties that may prove valuable in the days to come. Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly and safely.”

 

Alistair looked back to Florence and nodded to her. “We will.”

 

They better. Florence couldn’t do shit against Arl Howe if she was eight feet into the ground, or having her insides eaten by darkspawn. Maferath barked and whined from his spot by the fire, the canine’s whines were more prominent and concerning than the ones she’d heard earlier. Maybe her own dog could sense the anxiety and fear.

 

Alistair looked to Maferath, his eyes narrowing at him. “You’re quite the creature, aren’t you?”

 

Maferath barked. “I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing about you.” Florence said stroking a hand over her mutt’s face.

 

“He’s yours…?” He asked shooting a quick look to her.

 

“Indeed. He’s the only thing I brought with me from home.”

 

_The only thing left, that is._

 

“Can’t say that a lot of recruits have shown up with their pet.”

 

“Maferath is much more than a pet to me. He’s family.” She said playing with his ears.

 

“You named your dog after the man that betrayed Andraste?”

 

Florence’s small smile turned into a full one as she looked up. Ser Jory and Daveth both shared confused looks to one another. The exact looks on their faces was the reason why Florence had picked Maferath to name her most loyal friend.

 

“It’s supposed to be ironic. Maferath would never betray me.”

 

“I’m sure Andraste said the same thing.”

 

Florence laughed and stood. “Are we going to continue to make judgements about me, or shall we turn to the other pressing matters at hand?”

 

All three men shook their heads, as if snapping out of their own thoughts. It seems that she was right about being the only one with logical thinking. By the time they had finally finished staring at her dog, Florence was already halfway across the camp. Her fingers itched at her sides and her bow felt strangely warm against her back.

 

She hadn’t killed anything in months…and the last thing she did was kill was a wolf out of protection. She was going out of her bounds beyond the camp. She’d face darkspawn and other beasts as soon as she stepped foot. There was no safety beyond this camp, she’d have to rely on herself and hope that her fellow comrades would snap into action once darkspawn appeared.

 

If she was to show Alistair and Duncan what she was capable then she’d launch as many arrows she could.

 

* * *

 

 

The Korcari Wilds had been a major graveyard of darkspawn and humans alike. She didn’t know if it was the bodies or the swamps that made the air foul. They followed a strict path for a few miles outside the camp, but Florence kept her bow’s sheath unbuttoned in case any danger seemed to appear. Ser Jory kept looking over his shoulder and his hands shook at his sides. She could feel his fear like it had rolled into waves off of him. Daveth looked more bored than nervous.

 

Florence didn’t particularly enjoy Ser Jory, not after his off-hand comment about being a woman in the Wardens. At least with Alistair he had questioned why women didn’t join up more. Jory seemed to not like the fact that women could. Had she not just met him, Florence would have shoved her foot right into his arse for comment like that.

 

Daveth had been the least annoying. He kept to himself mostly, but had a snarky comment to add whenever conversation arrived through the trek. She knew little of him, except for that he was to be hung in Denerim for his criminal record. Duncan had only met Daveth because the rogue had tried to cut his coin purse and failed. She didn’t know any good thieves that actually failed at being a cutpurse. However, he was a step up from Ser Jory.

 

They came out from a bulk of trees and in the distance Florence could see a gigantic ruin, but not even going anywhere before she noticed a group of mutilated corpses next to a caravan. She spotted movement from the middle of the trail, and covered in blood and soot was a soldier. Florence and Alistair gave looks to each other before taking off into a sprint.

 

The wounded soldier crawled through the dirt and paused to crane his head up. “Who…is that? Grey…Wardens…?” he panted, his voice hoarse.

 

“Well, he’s not half as dead as he looks, is he?”

 

“My scouting party band was attacked by darkspawn! They came out of the ground…please, help me! I’ve got to return to the camp.” The wounded soldier put a hand to his side where blood dripped onto the grass. She’d seen worse wounds but without attention he’d surely die.

 

“Let’s try to bandage him up, at least.” She said to Alistair.

 

“Oh yes, give the incredibly dying man some medical attention before he actually ends up dying.” Daveth sighed.

 

“I have bandages in my pack.” Alistair shot Daveth a look and knelt to one knee in front of the soldier.

 

Florence sat beside him and put a hand to the soldier’s shoulder, revealing the wound that had been covered with dirt and grass. Alistair quickly wrapped the bandage around his waist, covering the wound and stopping the bleeding any further. The soldier sighed in relief and slowly stood.

 

“Thank you.” He groaned in pain and kept a firm hand on his wound. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

 

She moved out of the way as the soldier limped back onto the trail and towards Ostagar. She had hoped that he didn’t die on his way there, it would have been a waste to use the bandages. Ser Jory stepped forward.

 

“Did you hear? An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!”

 

“Calm down, Ser Jory. We’ll be fine if we’re careful.”

 

“Those soldiers were careful, and they were still overwhelmed. How many darkspawn can the four of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There’s an entire _army_ in these forests!”

 

“There are darkspawn about, but we’re in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde.”

 

“How do you know?” He sighed. “I—I am not a coward—“

 

“Sure sounds like it.” Florence muttered under her breath.

 

Ser Jory shot her an angry look. “This is foolish and reckless. We should go back.”

 

“We’re far from helpless, here. We’ll be fine.” Florence ushered to the three of them.

 

“I still do not relish the thought of encountering an entire army.”

 

Ser Jory hadn’t seen his fair share of bloodshed, this she knew. He was a knight from Highever and her quiet little home land didn’t have many wars or skirmishes. At least until Arl Howe had come. Nonetheless, Ser Jory definitely hadn’t known what he’d signed up for.

 

“Know this: All Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. Whatever their cunning, I guarantee they won’t take us by surprises. That’s why I’m here.”

 

They sensed darkspawn? Florence hadn’t read anything about that in the limited volumes there were on the Grey Wardens. They had a connection to Blight, yes, but she had no idea how deep that connection went.

 

“You see, Ser knight? We might die, but we’ll all be warned about it first.”

 

Everyone’s faces turned up in disgust and confusion. “That is…reassuring?” Ser Jory said slowly, as if he didn’t know what to make of the words.

 

“That doesn’t mean I’m here to make this easy, however. So let’s get a move on.”

 

“Yes, because if we stay here any longer with our tails between our legs we we’ll definitely get attacked by a horde.” Florence said with a tight, bored voice.

 

Ser Jory picked up on that instantly and moved first. He held a firm hand on the mace at his side and his shoulders were drawn forward—tensed and ready for anything.

 

“Do you really sense darkspawn?” She asked Alistair.

 

“I do. We’re connected to the Blight so we can sense when they’re close.”

 

“What grants you the ability to sense them?”

Alistair looked away from her and nodded to the road in front of them. “We should hurry. We should be close to the ruin.”

 

“Very dodgy of you.” She said with a pout.

 

Before Florence could take another step Alistair stuck an arm out and halted her from going any further. She turned, ready to make an off-handed comment, only for it to die on her tongue. Alistair’s jaw clenched and he swallowed thickly. His eyes scanned the area around them, and Florence knew that he was looking for.

 

Slowly, she reached up and behind her shoulder to pull her bow from it’s sheath. She gently pulled an arrow from it’s quiver and notched it into the string. Daveth and Ser Jory  had begun to slow and turned to them.

 

“Back up several feet, everyone.” Alistair whispered.

 

Florence moved back several spaces away from their spot and brought the string up to her chin. It hadn’t been long since the last time she’d held a mark on her target. If she’d face darkspawn today then she might as well take King Cailan’s advice and vent out her grief.

 

The ground surged, a ripple that she felt under her own feet, a sign that this was no ordinary beast. Florence planted her feet and felt the dirt quake. An explosion rocketed upwards of dirt and rocks, nearly knocking her off balance. She felt four stomps and focused on four monstrous figures in front of her. Snarling around them were the exact creatures she’d spend her future killing.

 

Without even a word she loosened an arrow and watched her arrow sink directly into the shoulder of one Hurlock. The men moved into action as her second arrow penetrated the throat of the darkspawn nearest to her. Alistair shoved his blade into the belly of the second darkspawn, black blood spilling out of the wound and staining the dirt between them. Ser Jory dodged two incoming blows from another, his blade clanging harshly against a makeshift one.

 

Florence saw movement from her left and dodged one incoming swipe from unaccounted Hurlock. Her bow shook from the force that met with the slash of the hurlock’s blade. She was face to face to the beast, it’s eyes paled and milky with a thin layer of skin clinging to the bone underneath. The beast howled in her face, sharpened teeth bloodstained and the stench of flesh fresh on its breath. Florence pushed back against the creature, her foot catching the heel of her assailant. She lifted up and the beast fell backwards into the ground.

 

She didn’t waste any time before ripping an arrow from her quiver, notching it into the string and sending it directly through the hurlock’s decayed eyes. The beast stopped moving for a few moments, it’s breathing going ragged. Florence retrieved the dagger at her side, playing with the hilt in her hand she stabbed downwards, penetrating right through the forehead of the hurlock. It stopped moving then, it’s body going limp at black blood spilling out of the hole in its face.

 

Alistair ripped his blade across the last darkspawn’s stomach, rotted organs and dark poison pouring out of the wound. The creature fell to it’s knees, screaming in agony and hissing as it tried to recollect it’s innards. Alistair wiped his brow just before he swung his sword around and cleanly sliced through the neck of his attacker. Florence turned away from the view as the blood spurted upwards and the head rolled directly off the shoulders.

 

Her blood was pumping in her ears, her heart was beating against her chest. She was barely breathing as she reached for her dagger that had been imbedded in the face of the hurlock. Did she actually just kill two of five darkspawn? The blood that stained her armor and face was evidence enough in itself.

 

“Everyone alright?” He asked.

 

“Just grand.” Florence retorted, yanking the blade from the forehead. The nearly gagged at the sound of the suction of the skin releasing air around the blade. The blade gave way and small jet of black blood went upwards.

 

“Get your vials filled while we’re here. I don’t sense any other darkspawn in the area.”

 

“You weren’t lying around sensing the darkspawn, Ser Warden.” Daveth said swinging his daggers in his hands.

 

“We’d be dead if he had been, Daveth.” Ser Jory said and pulled the small vial from the pouch at his side.

 

The three of them quietly filled their vials from the remaining blood from their kills. Florence had to slap a hand to the hurlock’s head for more blood to spill from the wound. She could see the sharpened teeth from it’s gaping mouth. Skin was still decaying off the jaw of the creature and it stunk like death itself. She filled her vial and stood—just before sending a quick kick to the hurlock’s face.

 

“Wanker.” She spat.

 

“You handled yourself quite well, Florence.” Alistair said with a quick nod.

 

“I couldn’t have you lads take all the fun away from me.”

 

She popped the cork back into her vial and slid it into the pouch in her belt. She shot Ser Jory a nasty look that came with an even more poisonous smile. That would be the last time he’d think women wouldn’t be capable of handling themselves. She’d taken down two in the time he’d taken down one. And Andraste slap her ass if she’d let him forget it, too.

 

She walked beside Alistair and matched his strides. The blood that clung to her armor was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. It’s smell was of decay and rot, it burned her nostrils and made her eyes water if she inhaled too deeply. How was she supposed to get used to a stench like this? The Grey Wardens would consume the rest of her life and she’d be expected to slay darkspawn.

 

“I told you that you’d never be prepared for how monstrous the darkspawn are.”

 

Florence blew a raspberry at him. “I’ve dated worse looking.”

 

He chuckled. “So is that the type you go for?”

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She slid him a sly wink.

 

Dangerous. Flirting with him—making her heart and stomach twist with their banter was dangerous to her. The Blight was threatening to consume the world and here she was acting like she’d met him in a tavern one night. He was rather good looking and she had to admit that he was definitely her type. There was a layer of shyness on him and she quite enjoyed making him blush.

 

They traveled for another mile before coming up to a ruin that had caved in upon itself. The ruined archways had all but deteriorated in the last hundred years. She couldn’t understand how a place as decrepit as this was once a building. Or how it even housed Grey Wardens for a time. Looters had picked away at anything that was worth of value, broken furniture was thrown around, and even the wildlife had nested in a few spots.

 

At the far end of the ruin lied a wooden container. Florence went up to it first, hoping to see the magical barrier still protecting it, but to her surprise she found the chest had been unlocked and opened. She ran a hand along the surface—no false bottom and the dust had even been wiped away. The scrolls were gone.

 

Suddenly, a voice cut out in the distance. “Well, well, what have we here?”

 

All heads swiveled in the direction and Florence found herself staring at a woman at second story of the ruin. Daveth and Sir Jory seemed to be enthralled with her every step, but Florence eyed the staff at her back. She was a witch—or an apostate of sorts. Her clothes weren’t from any Circle she’d ever seen before. The stranger didn’t look like she belonged in any Circle in all of Thedas.

 

“Are you a vulture, I wonder?” She took a few steps down the stairs. “A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned?”

 

Florence followed her steps as the woman came around a pillar. She had no reason to reach for her bow—yet. She didn’t reveal herself to be a threat and showed no signs of casting any spells. The woman stopped short of in front of Florence, unwilling to show any signs of backing down.

 

“Or are you an intruder, come into thee darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey? What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?”

 

“Last time I checked, I’m neither. The Grey Wardens once owned this towner, so what’s it to you anyways?”

 

“Tis a tower no longer. The Wilds have obviously claimed this desiccated corpse.” The woman moved around Florence and took to the other side of the ruin. “I have watched your progress for some time. ‘Where do they go,’ I wondered, “why are they here?’” She stopped just short of another broken archway.

 

“And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?”

 

Alistair came up to her first. “Don’t answer her. She looks Chasind, and that means other may be nearby.”

 

“Oooh.” She said sarcastically with a wave of her hands. “You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?”

 

Alistair sighed and glared up at the apostate. “Yes. Swooping is bad.”

 

“She’s a witch of the Wilds, she is! She’ll turn us into toads!”

 

Florence had completely forgotten about the other recruits beside her. Honestly, she felt as if they were just moving statues that only spoke when spoken to. And when they did speak, it was a load of pigs shit that she didn’t care to listen to.

 

“What is it with you men and thinking we’ll turn you into toads? Bunch of rubbish, I say.” Florence hissed to Daveth.

 

“Witch of the Wilds?” The woman tutted. “Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?” The woman turned to Florence. “You there. Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.”

 

She didn’t know if she actually wanted to say her name, but there was no imminent signs of danger coming from this woman. She didn’t fear the stranger and her gut was always right. The woman had been the first thing that hadn’t threatened to kill them within the first two minutes.

 

“Florence.”

 

The witch nodded. “And you can call me Morrigan, if you wish. Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?”

 

“’Here no longer?’ You stole them, didn’t you? You’re…some kind of…sneaky…witch-thief!”

 

Well, at least Alistair wasn’t known for his skill with words.

 

“Well put.” Florence sighed.

 

“How very eloquent. How does one steal from dead men?”

 

Florence didn’t know a single thing about Morrigan, but she already had taken a liking to her. She was a woman that clearly couldn’t care less about anyone. She’d been hoping she could find someone just as snarky as she. Morrigan had plenty of sarcasm, it seemed.

 

“Quite easily, it seems. Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them.”

 

“I will not, for ‘twas not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened.”

 

That much was clear. They’d stepped out of their own lands and into something far more dangerous the second they left Ostagar. Morrigan seemed to be the only thing that hadn’t tried to kill them yet. Florence didn’t want to get on her bad side and lose the only tie they had to the scrolls they needed.

 

“Then who removed them?”

 

“’Twas my mother, in fact.” Morrigan said rather plainly.

 

Was this kind of sick joke? Did she have to go on a scavenger hunt just to retrieve a few fucking scrolls? If Duncan put them up to this she’d rightfully put him on his ass. She’d never punched a Grey Warden, but there was a first time for everything.

 

“Your mother?” Florence saw Alistair shake his head in confusion. “Can you take us to her?”

 

Morrigan laughed and nodded. “There is a sensible request. I like you.”

 

“I’d be careful. First, it’s ‘I like you…’ but then ‘ZAP!’ Frog time.”

 

Florence had to bite down on her tongue to stop the laugh that rose up. Beyond his good looks Alistair was the humor she needed. Daveth stepped forward and sent a gentle nudge into her arm. “She’ll put us all in the pot, she will. Just you watch.”

 

“If the pot is warmer than this forest, it’ll be a nice change.”

 

“Anything to get out away of the evil darkspawn, Jory?”  

 

Morrigan turned on her heel and stepped away from the ruin. “Follow me, then, if it pleases you.”

 

“I don’t know about you but I shall not wait around to become darkspawn food, or live long enough to be turned into a toad.” Florence said moving away from the men and going directly after Morrigan.

 

* * *

 

 

Florence didn’t think she could get any more tired of the Korcari Wilds, she’d thought she’d seen it all with the lush forests and smelly bogs. However, it seemed like the entire land continued to surprise her with brand new foul smells, hideous looking bugs, and plants that spat poison every minute.

 

Morrigan had done a decent job leading them through the foliage and out of the thick of the forest. They didn’t travel far from the path, but Florence knew that they had entered part of the land that no soldiers or Wardens had seen before. With it’s eerie quiet with the mire they passed. Bugs could be heard, but there were no cawing birds—not even signs of other animals nearby. The entire place set Florence on the edge.

 

They took a small turn and Florence could see a ramshackle house in the distance. It wasn’t the beautiful structure, but then again it didn’t need to be for two apostates hiding from Templars and the Chantry. As they came closer, Florence spotted an elderly woman standing in the front of the home, her eyes aged eyes watching their every move.

 

“Greetings, mother. I bring before you four Grey Wardens who—“

 

“I see them, girl.” The old woman gave them all intense stares, her gaze holding a little longer on Florence. “Mmm. Much as I expected.”

 

“Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?”

 

“You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one’s eyes tight or open one’s arms wide…either way, one’s a fool!”

Florence mouthed a quick, ‘what the fuck’ to Alistair and whipped her head back to the woman. The woman was definitely off her rocker, barely making a lick of sense while she sized them all up. And here she thought that her third cousin had been the creepiest person in Thedas. She didn’t like to be wrong.

 

“She’s a witch, I tell you! We shouldn’t be talking to her.”

 

“Shut your trap, Daveth. Do you want her to turn you into a toad?” Ser Jory hissed.

 

How many times had she heard that since she joined the Grey Wardens Never in her life had she heard such lies. Hopefully, the woman was a witch because it seemed like both Daveth and Jory had brains the size of toads.

 

“There’s a smart lad. Sadly, irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will.”

 

The elderly witch stepped forward, cutting off Florence’s view.  “And what of you? Does your woman’s mind give you a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as these boys do?”

 

“I’m at the point that I’d rather hear them ribbit than use human words. But, I don’t know what to believe.” She shrugged.

 

“A statement that possesses more wisdom than it implies. Be always aware…or is it obvious? I can never remember.”  The woman sighed. “So much about you is uncertain…and yet I believe. Do I? Why, it seems I do!”

 

What the everloving fuck was Florence being subjected to this very minute?

 

“ _Sooo_ , this is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?”

 

“Witch of the Wilds, eh? Morrigan must have told you that, she fancies such tales, though she would never admit it! Oh, how she dances under the moon!” The woman threw her head back and cackled, making the witch statement seem a little truer.

 

Florence awkwardly laughed through her teeth. “That laugh doesn’t reassure me.” She muttered under her breath.

 

Morrigan’s eyes rolled so far back that the whites of her eyes showed. “They did not come to listen to you wild tales, mother.”

 

No, they hadn’t. It seemed like they had come all the way to hear a mad woman’s weird omens and threats. This wasn’t how she expected this meeting to go.

 

“True, they came for their treaties, yes? And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these.”

 

The woman turned behind her and grasped several scrolls off of a box beside the door. She slipped them into Florence’s outstretched hands. The smell of dried paper

 

“You…!” Alistair started but stopped mid-sentence, realizing the woman’s words. “Oh. You protected them?”

 

“And why not? Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight’s threat is greater than they realize.”

 

“Between you and me, I do not think they’ll take the advice. How do you know this information?”  

 

“Do I? Perhaps I am simply an old woman with a penchant for moldy parchments.”

 

The woman laughed again, maybe a little harder than the last joke. The laugh sent chills running down Florence’s spine. Never had she heard a cackle that held so much maliciousness inside it. Whoever this strange woman was…she didn’t have a single trustworthy bone in her body.

 

“Do not mind me.” She laughed again. “You have what you came for.”

 

“Time for you to go, then.” Morrigan said, sounding a little bit too pleased.

 

“Do not be ridiculous, girl! These are your guests.”

 

“Oh.” She sighed agitatedly. “Very well. I will show you out of the woods. Follow me.”

 

Florence came along to just retrieve the scolls, and yet, she was leaving with more questions.

 

* * *

 

 

The old temple was the only thing inside Ostagar that didn’t feel like it belonged. It was the one part of the place that hadn’t entirely crumbled over the years. The looming statues still stood firm and the pillars hadn’t a single crack in them yet. The night was late and wolves howled in the distance, singing the loneliest of songs.

 

It felt like the day was never ending. Florence was tired of hearing Daveth and Ser Jory bicker at each other like an elderly couple. She was tired of the constant weight that nearly her entire family was dead. She couldn’t even think about wanting to tell her brother about his son and his wife. She wanted to push—wanted to stay alive for vengeance but she was so tired.

 

Alistair stood beside her, his face hardened and his back tense. Compared to her, he was the only one that seemingly looked normal. Daveth constantly argued with everyone.  Ser Jory, by Andraste’s ass, did Florence just want to shove her foot so far down his throat. All the man did was whine or speak about his life back home.

 

_At least he had someone back home._

 

Florence hadn’t gotten word back that her brother’s scouting party would be returning yet. She wasn’t looking forward to meeting him on the frontlines. There was no way to pop in and tell him ‘the entire family was betrayed and murdered’ just before the eve of battle. Why did the Maker constantly shit on her life?

 

Hopefully, the darkspawn would eat her before she’d get to that.

 

Florence finally pulled herself for her thoughts to hear more bickering.

 

She threw up her hands. “By the Andraste’s dimpled ass! I wished that those witches turned you two into toads. It would have been quieter that way.”

 

Alistair snickered from beside her. Honestly, she didn’t care if she lived or if she died at this point. If the ritual wasn’t going to kill her then the Blight certainly would. She’d might as well play on Death’s doorstep while she still had her life left to live.

 

Duncan entered into the ruin and gave a firm nod to the four of them. “At last, we come to the Joining. The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation.” He gently set down a chalice on a small pedestal in front of him.

 

“So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint.” He poured the vials of the darkspawn blood down into the chalice.

 

Florence saw Alistair lower his head. It was expected to drink the blood of darkspawn to become a Grey Warden? It made sense why the ritual was kept secret. How many people were expected to join knowing they’d eventually have to drink the blood from blighted monsters?

 

“We’re…going to drink the blood of those…those creatures?” Ser Jory looked to be sick.

 

“As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. This is the source of our power and our victory.”

 

“Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint. We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the arch-demon.” Alistair said to them.

 

“I beg your pardon, I might be a bit deaf. Did you say for those who ‘survive’?” Florence asked.

 

“Not all who drink the blood will survive and those who do are forever changed. This is why the Joining is a secret. It is the price we pay.”

 

Florence began to drown everything out as Alistair began to start saying a few words before the ritual. This isn’t how she expected any of this to go. But then again, two weeks ago she didn’t expect her entire castle to be sieged and her family slaughtered. The Maker’s certainly didn’t smile down on his child like she’d envisioned he would.

 

That would be the last time she’d entice the Maker to kill her.

 

She had two routes to take at this point: one, she could continue with the ritual and possibly die. Two, by a sick twist of fate, she could survive and thus become a Grey Warden and pay the blood price on the Arl Howe and defeat the Blight. If there was a way to defeat it.

 

Death seemed preferable.

 

“Step forward, Daveth.”

 

The rogue stepped forward, he took the giant chalice in his hands and put his lips to the goblet. She could see the black blood slide down and out of the corners of his mouth. Duncan pulled the goblet away from his hands. It seemed time slowed around them as Daveth became unbalanced. He put a hand up to his head, his eyes going white and milky.

 

She shot a frantic look to Alistair. There was no way to tell if that was part of the Joining. Daveth sputtered and a stream of blood poured from his mouth. No, definitely not part of the ritual. Florence stared in horror as she realized that it was Daveth’s own blood.

 

He doubled over, a scream coming out from his bloodstained mouth. He wretched up more blood, something inside him was hemorrhaging. His body was rejecting the taint. Daveth sunk to his knees, clawing at his neck and gasped for air. Florence put a hand over her mouth and looked away. She could see his figure sink to the floor as his breaths lessened until he’d stopped moving.

 

Duncan’s shoulders slowly sunk. “I am sorry, Daveth.” He turned a chin away from Daveth’s corpse. “Step forward, Jory.”

 

Florence lifted her head to look at Jory. Fear had taken a permanent residence over his face. Jory backed up, his hand going to the sword at his back. His free hand was outstretched, as if to keep Duncan from coming any closer. He yanked the sword from the sheath and held it between them.

 

“But…I have a wife. A child! Had I known…!”

 

“There is no turning back.” Duncan said taking a few more steps.

 

Florence moved forward but Alistair clamped a hand down on hers and pulled her back. He kept her back for whatever was to happen next. Was it for her own safety or to keep her from running? She didn’t want to know the answer. Duncan placed the goblet back onto the pedestal and continued his movements.

 

“No! You ask too much! There is no glory in this!” He pleaded.

 

Duncan slowly unsheathed his own blade, his face dark and unreadable. Jory struck first, his blade clashing against Duncan’s with barely a blow.  The fear had to be taking over his entire body because his trained steps had become fumbling blunders as he dodged one jab. Dunan caught Jory’s wrist with the next strike, the curved blade plunging directly through Jory’s stomach.

 

Florence turned her head away just as Duncan ripped the blade across his abdomen. She blocked out the sound of gushing blood, Jory’s sword falling, and the sounds Jory’s innards slapping onto the concrete. Alistair’s grip on her wrist wasn’t tight but he felt her squeeze her gently.

 

“But the Joining is not yet complete.” He said.

 

Florence lifted her head and avoided the two bodies on the ground. Jory had rather get murdered than to make the sacrifice. She shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was. He’d shown all signs of running from their first mission outside of Ostagar. The only thing that brought pain to her chest was the fact he had a child at home that would grow up without a father.

 

Daveth had shown the most promise, but died _almost_ instantly from the Joining. For all his arguing, she’d wished that he hadn’t died from it. She’d seen two people perish in five minutes. She should’ve been scared out of her mind, but she was becoming numb to all the bloodshed and fear. The expecations weren’t high, all that was needed of her was to survive.

 

Duncan was covered in blood as he came over to her, the goblet still swishing with the darkspawn mixture. She felt Alistair release his grip and step away from her. Half of her body missed his warmth immediately.

 

Duncan held out the chalice. “This isn’t how most Joinings go, I’m afraid.”

 

“Are more bodies usually involved?” Florence retorted.

 

“Not usually, no.” Alistair said.

 

“Just know that you are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good.”

 

At this rate, she was willing to let all of Thedas burn. The darkspawn blood smelled worse than Dwarven ale. The contents swirled and faintly shimmered from the moonlight above her. It was now or never. She could go out with a bang or not at all. She’d go with the former.

 

“Before I sip this and whatnot. I’d like to make it clear that I could die by drinking this?”

 

Duncan sighed. “With becoming a Grey Warden there will always be a chance that—“

 

Like a shot of whiskey, she threw the rest of the drink down her throat. Both Alistair and Duncan’s eyes flew wide open. Alistair snickered, now he really hoped she’d survive. She was brave, he’d give her that. Neither of them had seen someone take their drink like that before.

 

Florence handed back the chalice and began to feel the effects of the taint. Her vision blurred and everything began to sway beneath her feet. Her eyes rolled back into her head as images flickered past. There was a ringing in her ears that drowned out everything around her. Her own heart beat couldn’t be heard over the noise.

 

“From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden.”

 

Her balanced shifted and Florence fell to her knees, her hands slamming into the ground. The ringing died out and she heard monstrous cries in the distance, wolves growling and animals shrieking. She became aware of everything at once as her vision faded to black.

 

Images flickered past again, but this time it stopped and focused on a monstrous beast in front of her. A dragon with black and red scales. It’s eyes were darker than night, death emanated from the dragon as it flapped it’s wings wide. The beast opened it’s maw revealing hundreds of sharpened teeth that were pointed to sharp edges and curved to catch prey. The dragon shrieked and she was thrown backwards.

 

She awoke with a gasp, her eyes snapping open to find Duncan and Alistair peering over her.

 

“It is finished. Welcome.”

 

“Two more deaths. In my Joining, only one of us died, but it was…horrible.”

 

Alistair held out a hand to her, to which she took gladly as she was pulled back onto her feet. She was still unbalanced as she put an arm onto Alistair’s to steady herself. They looked at one another for the briefest of moments, just before Florence moved away first.

 

“I’m glad at least one of you made it through.”

 

Florence saw her hands were bloodstained. It was Ser Jory’s blood. Her senses were heightened and she could just smell the difference in the air. The fires were sharper—smokier than the last time she’d inhaled it. She could hear the cries of the wounded soldiers in the distance, the pain more prominent than before.  

 

Duncan came around and placed his hands on the sides of her arms. “How do you feel?”

 

“I could be better—with the right drink.” She sighed.

 

 “Yes, well I’m sure that the pain would have subsided by now, had you not thrown darkspawn blood down your throat like a brandy.” He sighed, but his voice teetered on the edge of laughter.

 

“Did you have dreams?” Alistair asked. “I had terrible dreams after my Joining.”

 

The image of the dragon came back to her mind. There was no way that had been a dream. The creature was too real…too terrifying in her eyes to be an illusion. She didn’t say anything, her head was filled with too many questions to even answer one.

 

“The dreams come when you begin to sense darkspawn, as we all do. That and amongst other things can be explained in the months to come.”

 

 _Months_. She didn’t expect to hear that word being used. It seemed that she’d actually survived the Ritual, without vomiting blood or being brutally murdered in the process. She gave a sideway glance to Jory and Daveth’s bodies. Had Jory not put up a fight, maybe he would have survived.

 

She realized that Daveth and Jory wouldn’t be the first casualties she’d see. They wouldn’t be the last, either. Over Duncan and Alistair’s own talking, she could hear Morrigan’s mother’s words of warning play in her head. She’d called Jory irrelevant to the greater scheme of things, is his death what she meant?

 

The crazy old woman had spoken to her like there was a purpose—as if she knew that her words wouldn’t fall on deaf ears. If she had been a fabled Witch of the Wilds, could she have seen the future ahead of them? Is that why she went out of her way to protect the scrolls? Because maybe the woman’s words held truth, and the Blight truly did threaten the entire world.

 

Florence felt that these questions would be answered in the days to follow. And that feeling scared her more than anything.


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Florence and Alistair are given the task to light the signal at the top of the Tower of Ishal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW IT TOOK FOREVER BUT WOULD YOU BELIEVE ME IF I TOLD YOU MY LIFE IS GETTING HECTIC?

Florence watched as flames danced and writhed from the spit in front of her. The warmth had managed to warm her body, but she was still cold from the inside. Daveth and Jory’s bodies had been turned to ash from the mages minutes after the ritual. They were given no funeral, no last rites before they’d been reduced to nothing. She wondered if this is what her father wanted to keep her from.

 

He hadn’t any way to keep her from it now. She’d already slain her monsters and seen the brutal side of the Grey Wardens. The books she’d read hadn’t prepared her for any of this. There was no journal that went into detail of every emotion she’d feel after becoming a Grey Warden. She didn’t prepare for the heightened sensitivity to everything.

 

She could hear everything and anything, but beyond that was a looming presence in the back of her mind. It could be the effects of sensing darkspawn, feeling the taint within them that made her blood run cold every time she listened too deeply. It felt like a plague upon her mind that would never be cured. It unnerved her more than it interested her.

 

Then there the fact that once she’d woken up after the Joining, she’d felt numb. When faced with darkspawn, the fear was there no longer and instead she felt waves of disgust seize control over her. The need to slay every single one was overwhelming. She supposed in due time she’d slay plenty to feed the urge.

 

Florence brought her knees to her chest and laid her head down. Maferath whined beside her and rolled his large body over so he exposed his belly to her. She smiled at her companion, running a hand over his stomach. Maferath wiggled beneath her touch and let out a happy whine.

 

“Duncan has been sneaking you treats, hasn’t he?” She whispered.

 

Maferath barked happily and she laughed. “Spoiled brat.”

 

A twig snapped from a few feet off and she turned her head to see Alistair making his way over to her. Maferath rolled back over and glared.

 

“Your hearing is still sensitive, I see.”

 

“Or you’re just terrible at sneaking up on someone.” She smiled.

 

Alistair returned the smile and made to sit down beside her, only to have Maferath growl at him.

 

He held up his hands to the mutt. “Fine! I just…won’t sit next to her.” He grumbled.  “Mangy dog.”

 

“Maferath just has to get to know you to like you first.”

 

“Trust me, I don’t think that’s going to happen.” Alistair and Maferath glared at each other for minute. “I wanted to check on how you were doing. I know that the last several hours have been trying.”

 

“Quite an understatement.” She sighed. “But, I think I am better now.”

 

“I’m sorry that the Joining happened the way it did.”

 

Florence sucked in a breath and released it. “Jory wasn’t ever going to make it, that I knew. I just didn’t expect him to die at the hands of Duncan.”

 

“Duncan was given no choice once Jory reached for his blade.”

 

She nodded in agreement. Jory didn’t give Duncan a chance to keep his blade at his side, had he not brought his sword it could have been different.  “Duncan only did what anyone else would do in his position.”

 

They were quiet for a few more minutes, Florence happily accepting the time they had alone. Maferath kept his ears pointed upwards and a careful eye on Alistair that sat beside him, instead of her.

 

“You know much about Duncan, yes?” She asked.

 

Alistair looked from the fire. “Yes. I told you before that I was a Templar before becoming a Grey Warden. Becoming a Templar was a decision that had been made for me a long time ago. Duncan saw I wasn’t happy. The grand cleric would have never let me go, had Duncan not forced the issue.”

 

“You didn’t want to join the Chantry? Didn’t like the dresses they wear?”

 

“It…it just wasn’t for me. I believe in the Maker well enough, but I never wanted to devote my life to the Chantry. Nothing to do with their dresses.” He laughed.

 

“You speak very fondly of him.”

 

“I spent years in that chantry, hopelessly resigned to my fate. Duncan was the first person who cared what I wanted. He risked a lot of trouble with the grand cleric to help me. He’s a good man. A good judge of character. I owe him a lot.”

 

Alistair looked away from the fire and directly to her. “What about you? What do you think of him?”

 

True, she had small quarrels with him since he’d recruited her. She hadn’t been the happiest to leave her dying family behind, but had it not been for him she would have died alongside them.

 

“I owe him, as well. He saved me.”

 

“That sounds familiar.” He said playing with the straps to his gauntlets. “He’s done the best he can with what little he has…and that includes me, I guess.”

 

“I wouldn’t think so lowly of yourself. I see the potential in you.” She laid her head back over her knees.

 

Alistair’s cheeks reddened. “You might be the only one.”

 

They smiled at each other. Florence’s heart was in her throat, every time she swallowed it closed up. Maferath, from between the two of them, kept casting looks to each of them. His head swiveled to Alistair and back to his owner, which was giving the warmest smile the mutt had ever seen. He whined between them and rolled over onto his back.

 

Alistair finally broke the stare first. He cleared his throat and stood up. “Duncan must be waiting for you and I…I’ve been selfish with spending this time with you.”

 

Florence lifted her head and lifted a hand to try and stop him, only to see him completely walk away from the fire. He faded into the darkness of the camp and she sighed to herself. This was beyond bad. She’d only spoken to him for a total of ten minutes since she met him and she was already developing feelings for him. Damn him with his perfect eyes and smile.

 

She stood and wiped the dirt from her cape and stomped her way to the opposite side of the camp. The soldiers had quieted down for the night as well as more mages had joined inside the wounded areas and began to perform healing spells. Chantry sisters stood off in the distance, sneering and giving the mages the dirtiest looks Florence had ever seen.

 

Upon going past the place she’d met Alistair she saw in the distance three men standing around a table. King Cailan and Loghain Mac Tir were obviously bickering from the deep tones in their voice. Guards were stationed around the ruin, every single archway had at least two guards underneath it. Florence found Duncan on the opposite side of the table and made her way around it.

 

She briefly nodded to the senior warden and took her place beside him.

 

“You risk too much, Cailan! The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines.”

 

“If that’s the case, perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us, after all.”

 

“I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves!” Loghain threw up his hands and turned his back on Cailan.

 

Florence resisted the urge to roll her eyes into the back of her head. She couldn’t stand the Orlesians as much as the next Ferelden born, but she wasn’t about to reject help from someone willing to give it—no matter what they had done in the years before her.

 

“It’s not a ‘fool notion.’ Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past…and you will remember who is king.”

 

Loghain rubbed his temples. “How fortunate Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century.”

 

“Then our current forces will have to suffice, won’t they?” Cailan turned around to Duncan. “Duncan, are your men ready for battle?”

 

“They are, your Majesty.”

 

Cailan’s eyes jumped from Duncan to Florence. “And this is the lady from Highever I met earlier? I understand congratulations are in order.”

 

“Thank you, your Majesty.”

 

“Every Grey Warden is needed now. You should be honored to join their ranks.”

 

“Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan. We must attend to reality.”

 

“Fine. Speak your strategy. The Grey Warens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our lines and then…?”

 

Both Cailan and Loghain leaned over the table to where the map of Ostagar was. Loghain pointed to where his own forces were and where Cailan and his men would be. There was discussion of lighting a beacon to the Tower of Ishal, not a dangerous task but a vital one.

 

“We will send our best to light the beacon.” Cailan said, lifting his eyes from the map to Florence. “Send Alistair and the new Grey Warden to make sure it’s done.”

 

Florence’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I won’t be fighting in the battle?”

 

“We need the beacon. Without it, Loghain’s men won’t know when to charge.”

 

“You see? Glory for everyone!” Cailan said almost too proudly. 

 

If it was so glorious, why didn’t he do it instead? She thought. Lighting a fire in a tower was a fool’s errand, and coming from someone that highly regarded the Wardens he hadn’t given them the hardest task. The next few minutes were in discussion of silencing the Revered Mother and a leader Circle Mage on how they weren’t needed to light the signal.

 

Then after that, they’d split ways to attend to other pressing matters at hand. Florence walked in silence beside Duncan on their way back to the tent.

 

“You’re upset.” He stated.

 

“King Cailan is so obsessed with these idyllic fantasies that he’d blinded himself to the truth.”

 

She didn’t like Loghain’s words, but he had a small point. Cailan’s battle strategy could easily come undone if they made one misstep. He didn’t see that there was a great danger, he didn’t feel the heavy weight that settled over the entire camp.

 

“It’s not our place to meddle in political affairs. As Grey Wardens, we do what we’re told.”

 

Florences steps slowed and she lifted her head. “Even if dangers us all?”

 

“King Cailan is sure of his plan and as long as Loghain agrees with it, we shall be fine.”

 

Her gut didn’t agree with it. In fact, she didn’t like how any of this sounded. She’d seen that vision of the black scaled dragon. She felt the terror spike ice in her veins, the breath of darkness that crept along her neck. There was no way that she was the only one to see that dragon. She hoped that she wasn’t.

 

She didn’t say anything more, realizing that there was no point. She wasn’t going to get anywhere with Duncan rejecting her own worries. She didn’t know how the King would listen anyways when he lusted over an easy victory than a hard fought battle. Loghain wouldn’t let him see the truth, either.

 

They came back to the tent to see Alistair and Maferath both staring at each other down. Maferath had his head turned but he simply snapped at Alistair’s hand if he came too close. The mabari saw their return and happily shoved into him to make his way over. Alistair stumbled and gave the dog a sour look.

 

“So, how’d the meeting go?”

 

“Would you like the bad news or the good news?” Florence retorted.  

 

Alistair looked to Duncan.

 

“You heard the plan. You and Alistair will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit.”

 

“What? I won’t be in the battle?”

 

“My thoughts exactly.” She scoffed.

 

“This is by the king’s personal request, Alistair. If the beacon is not lit, Teryn Loghain’s men won’t know when to charge.”

 

“So he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch. Just in case, right?”

 

“This is ridiculous. We should be fighting in the battle.”

 

“That is not your choice. If King Cailan wishes Grey Wardens to ensure the beacon is lit, then the Grey Wardens will be there. We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn…exciting or no.”

 

Alistair sighed. “I get it, I get it. Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawling the line. Darkspawn or no.”

 

She pursed her lips and stretched them into a cheeky grin. “I think I’d rather like to see that.”

 

Alistair winked. “For you, maybe. But it has to be a pretty dress.”

 

Duncan sighed loudly and put a hand to his forehead. It must have been quite a sight, seeing two of his newest recruits flirt with each other so obnoxiously. They weren’t even trying to conceal the advances at each other at this point.

 

“The tower is on the other side of the gorge from the king’s camp, the way we came when we arrived. You’ll need to cross the gorge and head through the gate and up to the tower entrance. From the top, you’ll overlook the entire valley.”

 

“So when do we light the beacon?”

 

“We will signal you when the time is right. Alistair will know what to look for.”

 

“Will we be able to join the battle afterwards?”

 

She wanted nothing more than to launch a few arrows into some darkspawn and see exactly what Grey Wardens looked like while fighting. She’d have a true tale to tell in a tavern whilst surrounded by copious amounts of ale.

 

“Stay with the Teryn’s men and guard the tower. If you are needed, we will send word.”

 

“And what if the arch-demon appears?”

 

“We soil our drawers, that’s what.” Alistair whispered.

 

“Very attractive, Alistair.” She snickered back to him.

 

“ _If_ it does, leave it to us. I want no heroics from either of you.” 

 

Florence stuck out her lower lip. “Well, how are the bards supposed so sing songs of me if I don’t do anything ‘glorious’?” She said with a hint of sarcasm rolling off her tongue.

 

“They will just have to wait for a few years.” Duncan quipped.

 

Florence shut her mouth and realized when she’d been beaten at a game of wits. Duncan seemed to have plenty of it since he’d recruited her.

 

“I must join the others. From here, you two are on your own. Remember, you are both Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title.”

 

“Duncan…may the Maker watch over you.”

 

“May he watch over us all.”

 

* * *

 

The sky had gone red in the fallen hours of the night. Florence could no longer hear the songs from the wolves or any birds. All had gone quiet besides the heavy rain that had fallen over the area. She stood on the edge of the gorge, seeing the soldiers stand beside one another in formation. The soldiers’ armor glinted from the lightning strikes that lit up the bloodied skies.

 

Maferath growled behind her, his body locked tightly and tense. She felt the darkness creeping upon the entire land now. She felt sick to her stomach looking over the gorge and onto the battlefield where in just minutes it would be covered with darkspawn. She waited for the signal to push through seeing every archer poise their arrows onto the field.

 

Thunder boomed overhead and lightning struck. Florence saw movement beyond the trees and saw figures beginning to come out of woods. She felt it then, the tether that connected her to the creatures. Her head ached and she felt her vision heighten at the figures. Hundreds of darkspawn came striding out of the woods, their blades unsheathed and makeshift shields held in front of them.

 

She spotted at least three brutes within the first horde. They stood out amongst themselves, their bodies towering over their brethren. She could see their enlarged war-hammers dragging on the ground, ripping through the mud and stone without issue. Their shrieks and cries were carried in the harsh wind as they all stopped a little ways from the King’s men.

 

“Maker have mercy.” One archer whispered.

 

Thunder bellowed again as lightning cracked and split through the darkened clouds. The horde in front of them had begun stomping. Crude armored boots sunk into the earth, rumbling the forces beneath it while they slammed their sharpened weapons against shields.

 

The King’s army stood firm and unmoving through the display, their shields and glinting swords kept out in front of them. The wind howled as the rain turned into hail. One darkspawn stood in front of the horde, its armor more refined and distinguished than the rest of its comrades. The creature was the general of the horde. The general stood at the base of its army, its head turning to the King’s army then back to its own.

 

The General raised their sword, and through the storm, released an ear piercing shriek. It was all a matter of seconds after that the rest of the horde took off into a sprint, directly out of the trees and toward the army.

 

“Archers!” King Cailan yelled over the sounds of the darkspawn’s running.

 

Every single marksmen raised their bows upwards, their arrows glowing with red runes. There hadn’t been any time for waiting before the signal went through and a stream of arrows fizzled upwards into the sky and immediately rained down on the darkspawn in front. Explosions rocked through the first formation of darkspawn, fire catching onto the skin and armor of the hurlocks and genlocks.

 

The regular arrows found purchase in the rest of the horde, sinking into the skulls and chests of the second formation that followed behind. The mabaris were sent after the first wave of arrows, the mutts being unleashed and digging into the remaining first frontline. The hounds cleared a path through while the remaining horde continued to push.

 

King Cailan raised his sword to his soldiers. “For Ferelden!” He yelled.

 

Darkspawn and the army mixed together as the fighting began. Soldier and darkspawn fought against one another with clashing blades or fiery arrows that penetrated through the lines. Soldiers fell in heaps along with the creatures. Beyond the tree line, trebuchets had released balls of fire that crashed through ancient ruins. Stone and fire alike came into one as the ruins came apart and crushed anyone remaining below it.

 

Florence avoided the arrows that were soaring through the gorge, hitting and taking down any soldier that hadn’t protected themselves. Maferath remained close to her hip, his body lowered and ready to run. Alistair came onto her other side, his own shield held high as arrows continued to cut through the air.

 

“We have to get to the other side of the gorge!” He yelled over the wind.

 

Florence looked back to the battlefield, she felt a wave of nausea roll into her. There were too many darkspawn for the army to handle by themselves. The horde grew as more darkspawn fell, their numbers swelling by the second.

 

“They’re going to be overrun.” She whispered.

 

“They definitely will be if we don’t hurry.” Alistair said to her.

 

It only took eyes to see that. The wind carried the stench of blood, she smelled the difference between the living and the darkspawn. Her ears caught the sounds of trebuchets in the distance—the pulling of the ropes, the wood of the pulling arm groaning while it went backwards.

 

Florence pulled her bow from her sheath and took off with Alistair into a run to the other side of the bridge. Archers fell one by one while they ran past, darkspawn arrows imbedded into their heads or chests. Two fell in a heap in front of them, Florence hurdled past the bodies and dodged another wave of arrows.

 

In the distance the winding path to the tower was found. Mages and soldiers alike guarded the temple against a small ambush of darkspawn. Florence notched her first arrow as she ran, pulling back the string and firing it directly through the small skirmish. Alistair took off ahead of her just after her arrow sunk directly into the eye socket of a nearby genlock.

 

He drove his blade into the gullet of one hurlock, the sword going in deep and directly out of the back Alistair yanked his blade out, lifting his shield in time to block another blow from the next attacker. The hurlock’s mace clanged loudly against Alistair’s shield, the reverberations rocking directly through the creature. Alistair kept his moment and seized his opportunity to kick out his foot and yank the hurlock’s feet out from under himself.

 

Florence notched another arrow, she lifted her bow and sunk three arrows into the first two hurlocks that came running towards a group of mages. Her first arrow sunk directly into the chest of one hurlock, while the other two imbedded themselves into the throat and skull of the other. She took off around Alistair just as he drove his blade cleanly through the dazed hurlock beneath him.

 

“Thank the Maker, we were to be overrun had it not been for you.” One mage said to her.

 

Florence yanked out the first three arrows she could. “Stay with us and we’ll get to the tower. Start casting any spells you have.”

 

“Yes, Grey Warden.”

 

They continued their way up the trail, moving through the path of bodies of mages that had been cleanly sliced through. Florence kept her eyes on the tower, instead of seeing the desecrated bodies that left a trail all the way up. Nausea continued to roll into her, each wave getting stronger and prominent the closer she got to the temple. 

 

She hadn’t seen any other darkspawn that carried arrows and she only had so much time before she’d be useless on the field. There was no way she’d let Alistair take the brunt of the force if she’d run out of arrows. If was to be craft and pick up a blade, then so be it. She was better with a bow but her father had been no fool in training her with weapons.

 

“There’s more darkspawn ahead. Ready yourselves.” Alistair said to the mages.

 

They reached the summit of the path and found the base of the temple to be nearly overwhelmed with more darkspawn. Where had they been hiding this entire time? If the creatures had made it this far, how much time did they have left before they’d completely annihilated the entirety of the King’s Army? Florence was yanked from her thoughts when two soldiers came running from the main gates of the tower.

 

“You there! You’re Grey Wardens, are you not? The Tower…it’s been taken!”

 

“What are you talking about, man? Taken how?”

 

“The darkspawn came up through the tower chambers! They’re overwhere! Most of our men are dead!”

 

Florence looked to Alistair. “We’ll have to get to the beacon and light it ourselves.”

 

He nodded in agreement. “You men will stay with us while we take back the temple. Fight off any of them are furthest from the door. We’ll cut our way through them to get to the entrance.”

 

“I’ll take up a position farthest away from them and take out any that come in pairs. The mages will stay with me while you three take up most of the brute forces.”

 

“If you can, keep any of the marksmen off of us while we cut through the defenders.”

 

“Just don’t get in the firing range.”

 

He laughed lowly. “You got it.”

 

Florence and the mages took cover behind the first pillar beyond the gates of the Tower. Alistair and the soldiers charged forward, immediately diving into the thick of the action. She waited until the hurlocks and genlocks were out of their range to take off in the direction of the wooden battlements. Florence yanked an arrow from her quiver and launched the first arrow into the hurlock that was pulling an arrow from it’s own sheath.

 

The mages beside her kept a barrier up as the arrows shattered in front of the force field. They kept their momentum, weaving through the darkspawn that charged by without giving them a second glance. They came up to the stairs and immediately came up to one Hurlock. Florence and the beast looked to each other for the briefest of moments before a dagger came hurling through, hitting the hurlock directly through the temple.

 

She looked to see Alistair heave a sigh of relief and a nod before turning back to the others in the skirmish.

 

Florence took to the stairs, taking two at a time until she’d reached the top, giving an advantage point to the entire area around them. Florence knelt on one knee and pulled an arrow from her quiver. The mage nearest to her began to form an ice wall on the exit, while the other kept up their shields.

 

She lifted her bow and brought the string to her chin, her eyes finding a group of darkspawn collected by entrance to the tower. She scanned the area and found three archers on the other side of the area, already pulling their arrows out. She released a breath and loosed an arrow, letting it soar into the air she immediately retrieved the next.

 

The hurlock’s body fell off the battlements and slammed directly into the stonework. She let the next arrow fly—followed by another until the next hurlock fell limp and into a heap beside it’s comrade. Alistair kept his battle contained on the ground, working his way up as he cleaved a path directly to the main gates. Florence only had three arrows left, and she’d have to make them count so Alistair and the soldiers wouldn’t get slaughtered. 

 

“There’s too many of them by the door.” She looked up from her bow to the mage closest. “Do you happen to have anything that’ll clear the door for me without wasting anymore arrows?”

 

“In my left pocket is a rune, attach it to your arrow and let it fly.”

 

Florence dug through the pocket of the mage, her fingers catching a small token in it. She lifted the small rune that couldn’t have been any larger than her thumb. It glowed faintly of red and orange with a symbol engraved into it. It had been the same rune that the archer’s had used to obliterate through most of the horde before charging.

 

She bit back a malicious giggle as she tied the rune onto the head of her arrow. She notched it back, pulling the string up to her chin and nose. The mage furthest held up a hand to her, as the guards began to shift on their feet, readying themselves while the group came closer.

 

“Stay back!” She called out to them.

 

Alistair looked over his shoulder, he saw Florence on her knee and her arrow pulled closely. He could see the faint glow of the rune, the readied arrow that she held tightly against her. He pulled back several spaces as the darkspawn began to move towards them.

 

“Ready?”

 

Florence pulled her string tighter to her.

 

“Aim.”

 

She inhaled.

 

“ _Fire_!”

 

She exhaled and the arrow was launched forward, cleaving through the wind and rain as it sunk directly in the middle of the group of darkspawn. Their heads turned to the arrow as it didn’t detonate. Florence lowered her bow in shock.

“Well, that’s not—“

 

Suddenly an explosion ripped directly from the ground and a display of fire enveloped around the darkspawn. Debris of rocks, dirt and darkspawn limbs were thrown upwards into the air. The explosion quaked the entire ground around them.

 

Three bodies were thrown backwards, one body colliding into a pillar and the others crashing directly into the ground. A rush of air barreled through Alistair’s small formation, even Florence had to press her body into the wood to avoid getting thrown onto her back.

 

A single darkspawn that had stayed alive were running frantically while fire continued to scorch their decayed skin. It went directly towards Alistair, who still hadn’t gotten back on his feet from the explosion. Florence acted quickly by grasping a regular arrow from her quiver and sending the arrow directly through the temple of the hurlock.

 

The darkspawn fell into a heap at Alistair’s feet, he looked to her with a look of shock still clear on his face. Florence stood from the battlement and gave a small bow. They took off from the battlements and regrouped at the base of the tower. All was quiet beyond the doors, the unsettling quiet made Florence’s veins run ice cold.

 

Beyond the doors, she felt nausea seep into her head. Her stomach churned while her eyes couldn’t focus on anything other than the darkness in front of her. She swallowed thickly as her eyes nearly rolled back into her head. She could see everything clearly then. Forms that hovered around in the first floor in front of them. She counted the eight darkspawn that paced and stood around the room.

 

Then, she was being sucked out of that small vision and right back into reality. Alistair was in front of her, giving a look as if he knew exactly what she’d seen.

 

“You can see why we Grey Wardens come in handy.” He said to her.

 

“There will be more, that wouldn’t be all of them. We’ll have to get down and seal the breach that they’ve made. Then we can get to the top of the tower.”

 

“Duncan told us to not do anything heroic.” He cautioned.

 

“Yes, but where’s the fun in that?”

 

Even in the midst of battle where blood clung heavily into the air, and darkness was settling in on the lands, Florence’s lips turned upwards into the cheekiest smile Alistair had ever seen. He didn’t know how it worked but she had completely convinced him to go along with the plan.

 

“If we die, I will be severely disappointed.”

 

“And if we live?”

 

“I’ll buy you a drink.”

Florence didn’t need further motivation before she opened the doors to the tower and crept in. She kept her armor from clanking together as she tip-toed across the main hallway. Directly in front of her was the small group of darkspawn she’d seen earlier.

 

The door that led into the basement was beyond them, completely filled with their own blockades. Alistair knelt beside her, laying his own sword across his knees he observed the area in front of them. They had an advantage with how the tower had been built. The walkways curved around the center of the room and gave them a direct route to get to the doors.

 

“What are these darkspawn doing ahead of the rest of the horde? There wasn’t supposed to be any resistance here!” Alistair whispered. 

 

“Would you like to be the one to tell them they’re in the wrong place?” She hissed to him.

 

“Right. Because clearly this is all just a big misunderstanding. We’ll laugh about this later.”

 

The problem had been that they were to need to slice through guards before they’d get overwhelmed getting over there. Florence only had a few arrows left, they weren’t the best ones in the batch, either. She could resort to using her throwing knives, but she wasn’t as precise as she was with her bow. Alistair could only fight on for so long, Grey Warden stamina or no.

 

Florence turned to the mages behind her. “Can one of you cast anything useful?”

 

The elven mage nodded, moving herself a little bit closer to the entrance. “I can cast a fire barrier, locking the darkspawn in place and then cast a fireball.”

 

Alistair picked up on the plan Florence was creating. He waved the soldiers forward, waiting for them to quietly squat down beside him. “If this mage is going to do what she says then we’ll need charge in after she casts fireball.”

 

Florence gently pulled an arrow from her quiver, quietly she notched the arrow into the string and placed the bow over her knee. She’d have to pick any arrows from the corpses or hope to the Maker that he’d plant a weapon cache somewhere in the vicinity.

 

“I’ll take out any of the ones that aren’t immediately affected by the blast. Just stay out of my range.”

 

“Get ready, men.”

 

Florence moved backwards to let the mage step forward. She removed the oak staff from her back, the gnarled roots grasping a white orb at the top. The orb began to glow a bright red as she side stepped around the first blockade and stepped wholly into the center of the room.

 

The darkspawn turned at her movement, armor clanking and weapons singing as they were unsheathed. Florence stood behind the wall and brought her string back to her nose. She counted her breaths and listened to the darkspawn. She could hear the types of weapons each creature held. Four swords, a shield and a mace, two battleaxes, and—

 

Florence heard the strain of a bow. There was at least _one_ archer in that pack, and she’d be damned if she’d not get her chance of getting more ammunition. She whirled and loosed her arrow, heaving herself up and around the blockade. She tore through the second one as her arrow snapped like a twig against the archer’s shoulder pauldron.

 

Florence yanked a blade from her belt and hurled it directly at the darkspawn marksmen. The blade found purchase directly in the hurlock’s eye, black blood jetting out and onto the floor. Florence leapt over a heap of crates, her legs slamming into the ground she slid along the marble flooring and directly beside the dead archer. The other seven darkpawn looked to her as she yanked the quiver from the corpse and threw it over her own shoulder.

 

Florence had given the mage enough time to cast the barrier, flames erupted from the ground and enclosed the warriors inside it. Florence notched another arrow, backing herself up against the wall she moved to the corridor as the mage swung her staff outward. The orb glowed and released a ball of fire that came crashing into the nearest genlock.

 

Screams erupted from the rotunda as even more flames seized and burned through the blockades and the boxes. Florence turned her head to Alistair come through the flames, his sword glinting and shining from the fire as he drove it cleanly through the a genlock warrior. The other soldiers took on the other two, their own weapons cutting through the neck and shoulders of the hurlocks.

 

The two mages moved around the flames, keeping their staves tight in their grip they made their way to the other side. Florence took another arrow from the quiver and saw the wretched gnarled root in her hands. It was different from the ones she used earlier—this had been a craft made by the darkspawn themselves. The first arrow she held glowed faintly blue and fog rolled off from the tip.

 

She heard a yell in the flames, she realized it was Alistair. Florence waved to the mages and took off into the fray. She flung herself through the flames rolling right into the fighting pit she yanked the leg of one hurlock and sent him backwards. She felt the rush of a blade go past and moved just slightly before Alistair plunged his blade into the skull of the hurlock.

 

“You were to stay with the mages.” He cautioned.

 

She panted. “You’re supposed to stay alive. You owe me a drink.”

 

Florence yanked his free hand from his waist and shoved a healing potion into his palm. She didn’t need him dying on her now. The King and Duncan needed their help more than ever. Alistair popped off the top of the potion and threw it back, watching closely as Florence sunk arrows into the remaining defenders.

 

They made quick work with each other and the soldiers. Alistair guarded Florence from the brute forces while she picked off the genlocks that had begun to rely on their magicks. She dodged multiple thrown axes whilst reusing her arrows from the bodies she’d slaughtered. The whole rotunda reeked of burnt flesh and blood, the smoke was thick in the air and making it that much harder to fight the darkspawn within.

 

They hadn’t realized that they’d killed the darkspawn until a rush of cold air swept up the flames and smoke, bursting it outward and into the hallway that they’d turned. Florence took the arrows that she could, stuffing her quiver with as many arrows as she could. Most of them were heavily laced with runes or magic, which she knew would come in handy when fighting to get to the top of the tower.

 

“We’re running out of time,” Alistair panted and wiped the sweat from his brow. “There’s still the breach below us—but if we don’t hurry we’ll never signal Loghain’s army in time.”

 

They were running out of options and time. It had already been borrowed the second they’d stepped foot inside the tower. If they’d damned the breach then they’d damn the entire tower to mindless slaughter. But if they damned the signal then all would be lost. It was a call that neither of them wanted to make.

 

A mage walked in front of them and gently patted their arms. “You’ve given us time to gather the materials we need, Grey Wardens. Take another mage and a soldier with you, and the rest of us will deal with the breach.”

 

“There’s at least ten of them down there—you could be slaughtered.”

 

“All of Ferelden will be slaughtered if you don’t light that signal. Please, go while you can.”

 

Florence turned her head away from the mage and to Alistair. He sheathed his blade and sunk his head lowly.

 

“We will not forget your bravery.”

 

The mage nodded as the other soldier came beside him. “For Ferelden.”

 

They nodded together and placed clenched fists over their chests. “For Ferelden.” They repeated.

 

Had she known that those words would fall on deaf ears, she would have never said them. Betrayal hung into the air as she took two steps a time to the top of the tower. Florence had thought she’d been tapped out in tragedy for the next lifetime, but fate was sick and twisted as she opened the door to the top and saw the signal fire.

 

A signal that would never be heeded.


End file.
